Use me
by Noondarkly
Summary: If you ever doubted that Alex cared for Michael, this here is proof... for all of you romantic souls out there. Angsty slashfic that I intend to write the other POV of  Michael's . Don't read if offended by slashfics, ok?


Michael Scofield and Alex Mahone were two of my all-time favourite TV characters. Because you're reading this, you probably loved those two, separately and together as much as I did. I miss them so much that I broke my long-time resolve to avoid writing fanfiction, and concocted this. Gosh it felt good. *gurgle* It's all fiction, it never happened, I sure wish as hell it had, though. Haha.

I don't own these characters blahblah. (But I do, in my story.)

Please read and if you cared for it, do comment. If you wanna criticise, also, please, do it. I am looking to grow as a writer, and there is much room for progress...

Lastly: enjoy! *wink*

The stench of unwashed, sweaty human bodies caged up in a hellhole intensified in Alex's nose by the minute. He tried focusing on something else, but as the effect of drugs slowly started to fade out, his private misery returned with a vengeance. It had been more than a day without drugs and T-Bag was nowhere to be found, probably kissing the Patron's fat ass somewhere. Alex didn't mind the distance between them; each time Theodore disappeared, Alex hoped it would be for good, that the malicious snake of a man would find his death between the bony hands of some disgusting criminal. T-Bag was his nemesis, his temptation; with one gesture of his plastic hand, he could bring release, or pain. Everlasting pain.

He turned in his place; his buttocks hurt on the hard floor but he had no strength to get to his feet and move. He breathed in and out through his mouth to get some peace from the stink that seemed to penetrate his every cell; his palate was dry, he couldn't remember the last time he had any liquid running down his throat. His mind, not completely numbed any more, was able to put thoughts together and he realized he'd get dehydrated real soon. He simply had to move from his spot, however repulsive the idea seemed to him. It meant leaving his safe zone, disclosing himself to those thugs. Not a moment spent in Sona went by without him wondering when his last one would come. If they knew he used to be a cop...

Alex used his hands and arms to pull himself up, pushing his weight up on his two legs, balancing himself for a while, his eyes closed, his mouth open, his head dizzy, blood pulsating in his ears. He was a moment away from losing consciousness, it was an exhilarating state, he was almost flying. It was the closest to being high he could get just then. He held on to the metal bars of a half broken door with his entire body shaking at the sensation he was experiencing.

An inmate grunted in his sleep, threw himself flat on his belly, the crack of his butt showed above the edge of his pants that slipped off. Alex looked away, blinked many times, fast, focusing on the noise that alternated with fearsome silence. There was hardly anyone on the corridors despite the time of day; maybe there was a football match on, or an impromptu fight in the yard of death. What did it matter? Things of no consequence happened inside Sona, things that couldn't hurt Alex, as long as he had his drugs. He had lost everything that was ever important to him. No living human cared for him any more, not Pam who had given up on him a long time ago, not even Lang... what did it matter. He was but the remains of a once brave, intelligent, happily married and coping FBI agent. Maybe it would be best if everyone forgot about him. It would make rotting inside a prison easier, knowing that no one would have to mourn him once he was gone.

Walking seemed the only thing to do, so he tried that. One step, he was still up, although in a rather uncertain state. As the blood started to circulate through his veins again, his legs, asleep from lying in a ball of frenzy for long hours first carried him like wings: he felt nothing, he took another step, he still felt nothing, he laughed out loud, it was like flying for real... then, his limbs received a rush of sensation in the form of sharp, striking, delightful pain, a million pinpricks. Still under the waning spell of drugs, Alex took one step at a time to enjoy the ride, to enjoy feeling again. Feeling... whatever. Just... feeling.

His ears discerned noise, the familiar, animal hurling of hundreds of fearless creatures who had nothing to lose. They were probably mashing someone's brains against the bricks of some wall, or stumping on their lifeless bodies in the sand of the yard. Or maybe someone scored on TV. It was never certain, it could be the most obvious, harmless thing, or it could be something that most people only experience in their most vicious nightmares. He walked on, the pricks in his legs started climbing up toward his thighs; his brain told him to look for water, water, at all cost, he had to drink. He almost sipped into a can of acetone, but his nostrils flared at the sudden wave of destructive gas up his nose. He stepped back, dropped the can, shook his head and took deep breaths of the air that, despite the stench it contained, was still air that kept him alive.

He found himself in a dark corner, two walls meeting without the benefits of any window to allow the light of day in. It suited him, the twilight transformed everything into something more bearable to look at. The nondescript shade of the wall became granite grey, a sombre hue that conveyed an almost elegant atmosphere to the nook that seemed to be frequented by no one.

No one but Michael Scofield.

Alex recognized the uncanny long legs and the impossibly slender fingers clasped together on knees, the top of a head that carried very short hair leaning over aforesaid knees. He would have probably recognized the solitary figure just from the fact that Michael always preferred his own company to everyone else's. He had always been a loner, but since that day...

Mahone watched the man in his almost foetal position, his back against the wall, both walls. Scrunched up into the corner like that, he awakened pity in Alex's heart. No one deserved to undergo what Michael had had to endure... they may have had their differences in the past, but Michael had always been one of the most amazing human beings Alex had ever met. He had probably known it from the first day he started to investigate his case; that incomprehensibly intelligent plan put together into a coherent, intricate network of brilliance from the tiniest, seemingly most ordinary details was something he had never encountered before. Not from the mind of one single man. Simply put, Michael, from day one, had been considered a genius; later, when their relationship of hunter and hunted became tighter, when their numerous encounters brought them face to face, Alex had to realize that Michael was not only a genius, but one of the best persons he had ever known. Genuinely helpful and self-sacrificing, generous to the point of being ridiculous, a hero. A modern-day hero.

That hero's spirit had finally been crushed, broken into smithereens by a precisely directed blow to the poor bastard's heart. Anyone else would have sworn revenge, they would have become bitter, they would have unleashed their rage onto the unsuspecting world. Alex understood Michael: he knew that even though Michael had expressed his desire to kill Gretchen, he would not be able to do it. It was not in him. Michael Scofield was not a killer, or if he became one, Alex knew that the moment the young man took a human being's life, he would stop being Michael Scofield.

Perhaps that day would come, after all. In the state Michael was in, Alex was almost hoping it would, to release him from the unendurable pain he was inflicting upon himself. Sara's photograph in his hands, Michael was torturing himself to no end, maybe thinking he could keep his vengeful spirit alive. Or maybe just making his every intake of breath possible. Who could tell...

Alex walked closer to Michael and allowed his back to thump against the wall several feet away from Michael, who started from his half stupour and looked at Alex with eyes bloodshot from the lack of sleep.

'Sorry', Alex said. He swallowed on a dry throat, he desperately wished he could drink something.

'What is it you want', Michael uttered the words one after the other, without any intonation, any feeling in his voice.

'A sip of water would be nice but for now I'll just sit here a while', Alex replied, his tongue running over his lower, scorched lip covered with tiny painful cracks.

In slow motion, Michael produced a plastic bottle from his back pocket. It was only half filled with water, the colour of urine from the dirt on the side of the bottle. At that point, Alex would have drunk urine proper he was so thirsty, so without asking anything, he grabbed the bottle from Michael's hand and unscrewing the top, he released its contents into his eager mouth. He almost choked on the liquid, he drank it so fast; his throat received the languid water happily, like someone who had not drunk anything for thirty-seven hours in the heat of summer.

Alex sucked out the last drops of water from the bottle, then screwed its top back and glanced at Michael, who was staring ahead of himself with indifference.

'Saved my life', Alex said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He closed his eyes to feel the beauty of liquid trickling down his throat more intensely. God, he missed drugs. He needed them to survive in Sona, he could not live without them.

Michael didn't reply when he took the empty bottle and shoved it into his back pocket again. He shifted a little in his position, but not really. His fingers still clasped into each other, his eyes glassy and staring ahead.

Alex realized it had only been a week since the terrible news spread in Sona. He distinctly remembered that Bellick was sniffling on his bunk, even T-Bag was almost subdued when he asked them what had happened. The sounds of Michael's sorrow soon filled his ears and ripped his heart out from his chest, they were so terrible to listen to. They were louder than the usual raucus of Sona, they struck a painful chord with Alex in their familiarity. He knew exactly what losing someone felt like, for some uncanny reason he did. He experienced losing his son through the wails of Michael, he wept for his beautiful Cameron and his perfect Pam, in a corner of his own he mourned them without having lost them in the first place, the pain rose in his chest, crispy like a freshly baked bun; the crisp gave way easily as layers of his sadness fell one by one, one after the other to leave a raw, throbbing wound, open and uncovered, unable to heal. He wept mutely at the frightening thought of losing his loved ones; as for Michael, he walked through the valley of his own emotional death completely alone and deserted by everyone. Even by Linc. It was Alex's understanding that his brother had been lying to Michael to keep his son alive; as a father, he understood why Linc had to lie, even at the risk of losing the trust of his brother. Losing his son would have been worse, infintely worse. Alex knew that. Michael didn't, and Alex knew that he didn't; and even though he was certain that Michael would eventually come around to fully grasping the emotional hardships of Lincoln as a father, just then he was all alone with his dark thoughts. Having to deal with the thought of having been betrayed by his brother, the one he had risked his own life to save, on top of the terrible knowledge that the one person he cared for the most had been cruelly murdered may have started to unravel Michael.

The Michael who used to be fearless and amazing was no more. He was but the shadow of himself, and to keep LJ alive, he had promised to do everything Gretchen wanted. He was helping dig that tunnel, he led them all on the path to the light; but when on his own, he fell into the dark pit of hopelessness. Alex missed Michael, the Michael who was always one step ahead of him, the Michael who used every resource to keep him at arm's length, the Michael who was a genius and the biggest altruist ever to walk on the face of the earth.

'It will pass, you know', he broke the silence, looking at Michael.

Michael stood his glance with a mocking little smile.

'You have no idea what you're talking about', he replied slowly.

'I do... I do', Alex nodded, biting his lower lip that started to bleed. The taste of blood felt salty on his tongue, it made his stomach turn. 'My wife will never talk to me again, and my son...'

He was cut off by Michael's rage.

'They're alive! Their hearts are beating, and their heads are on their necks at this very moment!' Michael yelled, his eyes opening wide in anger and hatred. 'Do you have any idea what it's like to know, to actually know that the one you love had been murdered? That you've been thinking of them all this time, and they have been dead for days, maybe weeks?'

Alex swallowed. His hands were shaking, the drugs leaving his system were giving him hell.

'She died because of me, Alex... I killed her... the one thing I wanted was to keep her safe and as far away from harm as possible... and I killed her...'

Michael's cheeks were wet from the tears that were rolling down in a waterfall of pain.

'So don't you tell me it will pass... it will never pass... ever... I'll live with this for the rest of my life.'

His voice was deep, almost a whisper. Alex understood that Michael's honest character made it impossible for him to live for revenge; he could not hide behind the noble feeling of wanting to destroy others, when he knew exctly where to find the person he could fully blame. It was himself. He blamed himself for Sara's death.

It was the worst kind of hatred. Alex knew that it would quickly consume the wonderful young man who was inwardly shaking. He had been there; Schales had been his cross, too large to bear, so he had had to bury it, but of course no sin is ever committed without coming to light, eventually. In a way, he probably owed his life to Michael in more ways than one; not only did Michael just save his life with that water, but he also helped him uncover the frightening secret that he had had to keep from the whole world, even from Pam. Like maggots that reproduced in the fertile soil of his guilt, the heavy burden had been gnawing at his insides and he would have perished... had it not been for Michael, who single-handedly found him out.

'It wasn't you who killed her, Michael... it was Gretchen... it is she who you must hate with all your heart... please don't take the road I took... in my case, it was me who had killed that man... and my guilt would have eaten me alive... but then you came.'

Michael gave him a look of ridicule.

'Are you going all sentimental on me now?'

Alex shrugged his shoulders and swallowed a fresh drop of blood from his lip.

'I've had enough of you Alex', Michael got to his feet resolutely.

Alex made a superhuman effort and stood up just as fast. He was still dizzy from the dehydration, but what weakened him even more was Michael's proximity.

It was too late to deny it. He had known it, he had always known it. He had been drawn to Michael from day one; the young man's intelligence, brilliance of mind and warmth of soul were such a rare combination that Alex Mahone, either because he had always strived to be like him, or because his common sense was knocked senseless by Michael's persona, found himself attracted to Michael in more ways than one.

During the pursuit, he wanted to get close to Michael, to pick his brain, figuratively speaking, to figure his tricks out.

Locked up together in the same building, there was no escaping Michael's effect. It was intoxicating. Regardless of whether Alex was sober or under the influence.

Now, standing beside him, his hand on Michael's arm to stop him from going away, it was too much.

'Don't... touch me', Michael hissed, his steely blue eyes piercing Alex's.

I have no choice, Alex thought. He was too weak to say it out loud. You're my blood, Michael... you're running through my veins, you're keeping me sane, keeping me alive.

Michael had pushed him to the wall like someone who is tossing aside a feather. Alex felt genuinely, physically weakened by the circumstances, but his hands reached out for that strong arm once more, and they pulled Michael back.

This time, he wasn't going to let go. His fingers locked on Michael's skin as he pushed Michael hard against the wall. Their bodies pressed together tightly in the effort they both were making, one to escape, and the other, to hold on. The master of escaping was struggling with all his might, but Alex was clinging to his idol with a ferocity that surprised both of them.

Michael was the stronger one, nonetheless. He grabbed Alex by his shirt and was getting ready to push him away, when Alex remembered his knife.

'Hate Gretchen, if you want to hate anyone... hate me, for all I care... you've hated me all along, I can take it', Alex was saying, his lips so close to Michael's that he felt he was losing control. He had the knife's blade on Michael's neck, the sharp cold piece of metal touching Michael's warm skin. 'But stop hating yourself... you won't last long, trust me.'

'I don't want to last any longer than I have to', Michael was whispering through his teeth, his eyes half closed, his head against the wall, his lips obstinately and tightly together. 'Go ahead, kill me... it's what you've always wanted, right?'

Alex swallowed. Kill Michael... maybe, at first. Never since then. Bask in his light, yes. Follow his footsteps, absolutely. Soak up his presence. Try to learn from him, endeavour to understand the working of his genius mind... but kill him?

His lips descended on Michael's like an angel jumps from the heavens into mortality. He knew nothing any more. His cravings for drugs had turned into a painful desire for Michael, the want to touch him, feel him, have him in his control. He kept the knife pressed to Michael's neck, but only as long as his mind was able to think straight. The object fell to the floor with a loud noise just as Alex grabbed Michael's shirt with both hands and kept kissing him with a passion that hurt his groin.

'Let me... let me go', Michael moaned and tried to push Alex away.

Alex wanted to explain, to say things to Michael that rushed through his head with the speed of blinding light. He wanted to ease Michael's pain, he wanted to express to him emotions that he never thought could exist in him, despite the daunting situation they were in, he wanted to thank Michael for saving his life, for showing him a better way. He wanted to remind Michael of the fact that life was still amazing, that Sara's death, however terrible it was, would in the end allow Michael to live a life of love for others. The life Michael had always lived. Alex understood his own feelings, but he knew Michael wouldn't; and yet, words would have been a waste of breath, a waste of gesture, so instead, he used his lips to devour Michael's and his hands to keep the man as tightly caged between his body and the wall as he could. His tongue pushed inside Michael's mouth and lashed out against the man's reluctance, persistently combatting Michael's refusal. He kissed and kissed, pressing on and on, breathing out his lust and his love for a man. A man. He wasn't gay. But he loved and lusted for Michael with such force that he was left breathless.

Taking a step back, he looked at the other man. The latter was standing there with his arms down, his fists closed together, his eyes showing no mercy. Alex expected Michael's hand to come down on his face, he almost wanted it. Perhaps a blow of the fist would wake him up, would wake both of them up. Michael needed to be revived, shaken up, and he needed to get sober, to grasp that whatever he was suddenly fantasizing about could never, ever happen again. Not outside the walls of Sona, not even within the walls of Sona. Never again, ever.

'I never made love to her... we didn't want to rush things... any then there was no time left'.

Alex stared at Michael's eyes from which tears started streaming again. To watch Michael's pain was excrutiating. If only he could take a step closer and kiss him again; he was at a loss for words, words could never help Michael, only dogged love, obstinate affection that could affect the man's golden heart. But kissing Michael now, when he was mourning Sara, would have been inconsiderate. Alex stood there hopeless, swallowing and shaking from his desire.

'Use me'.

They both started, Michael's face was ashen from the pain, and Alex realized it had been him who spoke.

'I wish I could bring her back to you', someone other than Alex Mahone kept speaking. 'Please... use me.'

Michael was shedding tears without stop while he watched Alex. The latter wasn't sure that Michael had understood, but he was tired of saying words that were belittling his purest intentions. The gesture he was ready to make had been the most immaculate display of love Alex Mahone had ever felt, but when clothed in the superficial gown of words, it became the most repulsively mundane, profane and grotesque idea he had ever thought of. Alex averted his gaze, but stepped to Michael and kissed him again, this time gently, persuasively. Stroking Michael's neck, fumbling with his earlobe, his fingers sliding over Michael's perfectly round skull.

'I can't do this...', Michael was saying, but his lips were more receptive now.

'You don't have to... just... use me...', Alex breathed onto Michael's neck. 'And keep your eyes closed', he went on, sealing Michael's eyelids with gentle kisses.

It was heaven. Michael looked like the angel who Alex always wanted to be, with his thick eyelashes fluttering under the surge of emotions neither of them could stop. His skin was dewy from his sweat, his lips were carrying the moist of Alex's, his nostrils were flaring under the upheaval of desire as Alex reached down into Michael's pants and grabbed his manhood. Just to allow himself the luxury of watching Michael's a bit longer, he moved his hand slowly up and down the hard member that was rendering Michael so helpless. He gave Michael a kiss now and then, making an effort to tear his lips away from those juicy, perfectly full, warm lips and he stroked Michael with strong moves of his hand. He had never given a handjob to anyone, he never thought he would enjoy the act so endlessly. But he did.

One last, long, passionate kiss and a gentle stroke of thumbs down on both of Michael's eyelids to remind him of keeping his eyes closed, and Alex decided it was time. He freed Michael from his pants and turned his own back to him.

It wasn't an occasion of gentleness; Alex undid his belt and pants and using his own saliva and his hand, he moistened Michael's member to ease penetration. Not for himself, but for Michael. It hurt him like hell, but he squeezed his lips and propped himself against the wall. The mouldy bricks felt cold and damp under his palms, they distracted him from the physical pain that Michael was inflicting on him. it was surreal, the feeling of being filled to the brink by another man. His muscles were tight and it wasn't comfortable, not to mention the emotional repercussions that were already emerging. Disgust and incomprehension, revolt and lust alternated with such speed that there was no time to focus on any of it, really. But he felt Michael's hips push against his ass and he felt Michael's hands on him. At first, they were holding his hips tight, holding him positioned against the thrusts; gradually, those hands let go of him and circled his waist gently, as the thrusts became gentler, too. There was no more pain, just an overall sense of craving and belonging. There was heated breathing on his shoulder, there were random kisses on his skin on the back of his neck, on his ear, there was moaning. And then there was a hand on his own member. It started moving up and down on him, causing infinite joy, sending waves of delight to his brain. Michael was inside him and all over him, it was amazing, it was shocking, it was unbelievable. He closed his eyes, his throat emitted a grunt as Michael pushed himself further inside, almost pressing them both to the wall. As Michael's hand performed its magic on his throbbing shaft, the sensation of his orifice being filled by Michael was starting to send waves of pleasure all over through his body. It was not possible, and yet it was happening. God, it was happening so fast. He wished he could see Michael's face, he wished he could kiss those lips when Michael came inside him; the groan and moan and deep, throaty sob that Michael emitted sent him over the edge and his delight was released into Michael's gentle hand.

They collapsed together, pants were zipped back, hands were wiped, lungs were ordered to work again. Michael sat with his back against the wall, heaving helplessly, tears on his face. Alex heard nothing but the sound of his heart beating like crazy in his ear. He was shaking from head to toe, he wanted to pull himself together but he knew he was a mess. It was too much. He was hurting a little, and yet he craved to feel Michael inside him again.

It would never happen. He knew. Michael was not his. Michael was nobody's. He was a force of life larger than any human being could account for. He stared at the patterns of blood and semen on the floor, the cradle of passion for many a couple. He saw Michael's shoes, he heard Michael's panting.

'Whatever happened... whatever happens... thank you', Alex muttered as he got to his feet and stood there, wobbly.

He left without daring to ask, or look at Michael's face.

(the end)


End file.
